Chasing Death
by Demonic Irken
Summary: You are waiting for death, and it finds you. But things don't go as planned
1. Chapter 1

You're scared.

But that is okay, you think.

The cold bites at you, and you began to shiver. You're wearing nothing but your night clothes, sitting in your driveway with your back against the house, next to the open garage door.

You're waiting for him to come back.

It is just you there, no one else is present. They've all gone away for a few days, leaving you here alone to reflect on your past decisions.

You've murdered your brother. You know that much.

You feel guilt now, crushing you from the inside, slowly eating you alive.

And you let it. Because you deserve it. You deserve everything that's happening now, because you know that you are a monster. You know you are nothing.

You raise the knife, and you stare at it, the voices in your mind whispering to you.

Beside you, there is a container of antifreeze. Wrapping a shaking hand around the handle, you pick it up and examine the label. 'Do not ingest' it says. You are planning to do the opposite.

You set it down and bring the knife to your skin. A pathetic whimper escapes your lips as you dig it in deep, and draw it across your arm.

The blood runs thickly down your arm and drips onto the concrete. You wish he would be here already.

It is late, and you are beginning to grow tired. The moon is full tonight, casting its light upon your penitent form.

You close your eyes, just for a second, to listen to the silence. It is soothing, in a way, to imagine that this is what Death must be like. Eternal peace. Forever calm. Quiet.

A growling sound reaches your ears, and you open your eyes again to see your brother's little yellow rabbit plush walking up the driveway towards you. Its eyes are blood red, and its body is faintly lit by the moon, but that's all you can see. You know its him, though. You can feel the hate.

You feel the pain well up within you again, and this time you do nothing to hide it. You let it out. You began to cry.

The rabbit stops and stands a few feet away from you, just staring at you. You wonder what its thinking, but then decide that you would rather not know the answer.

"I-I know I messed up," you start trying to explain yourself to it, to help it understand what made you do what you did. "I know I'm not a good person. I've done a terrible thing, and I can't make it better." You lift your arm and hold out the knife by the blade, the handle pointed in its direction.

"You're angry, and I understand that," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper, cracking with grief as the pain gets stronger in you. "I know what I've done, and I… feel terrible. I wish I could change what happened, but I can't, and I accept the consequences."

The rabbit slowly approaches you, its growls growing weaker. You wonder if its confused by your change of heart. You feel it grip the handle of the knife and tug it out of your grasp, the sharp metal cutting into your fingers and drawing blood.

You shift so that your hands are pinned behind your back, so that you will be unable to stop it in time.

You turn your head away and close your eyes, not wanting to see your own death, and you wait.

You are ready for this, you think. You are ready to die. You breathe in deep, and exhale. Nothing can stop it from happening now. This is the fate you chose when you killed your brother.

The cold no longer bothers you, and you've stopped shivering. There is a numbness now, replacing any feeling you previously had.

You breathe slowly, remaining calm. There is no sense in fighting this, so you let your mind wander back to that time. The moment when you watched him die. Why did you just let it happen? Why didn't you do more to stop it?

His screams filled your head, drowning out all other surrounding noises. You have barely slept since that day, and you suppose that your current decision might have something to do with that, but you hardly care anymore.

After a few moments, you realize that you are still breathing. You hesitantly open your eyes, and you see the rabbit is closer now, inches from you. The knife is pointed at your throat, but he is just standing there, staring at something behind you.

A second growl comes from your right side, this one lighter and less threatening.

You look over, and see the golden bear that you've heard so much about, and it's glaring daggers at your soon-to-be murderer.

The rabbit lowers the pocketknife, and drops it, where it hits the ground with a loud clattering noise.

The golden bear wanders over to you and takes your injured hand in its paw, licking at the blood. You suspect it is cleaning the wound, but even if it was planning some ulterior motive, you still wouldn't mind too much.

After it's finished cleaning the cuts on your fingers, it crawls into your lap, and you hear it making some kind of purring noise.

You are surprised by this turn of events. Surely you expected to be dead by now, yet you weren't.

The little rabbit growls at you and walks off, vanishing into the darkness of a small wooded area across the street.

Then you realize that they won't kill you now. That meant you had to do it. You sigh and pick up the container of antifreeze and lift your arm to bring it to your mouth, but a paw is set gently on your arm.

The gesture is strangely soothing to you, and you slowly get to your feet and head into the garage to put the antifreeze back on the shelf.

You go inside the house to your room, not thinking to turn on the light, and lay on your bed, staring into the void.

You feel a prick in the side of your throat, and you flinch. You look over and see that bear again. He's staring at you, but not with malice. Something else. It was almost like he didn't want you to be afraid. Like he wanted you… safe.

Suddenly exhaustion overwhelmes you, and you quickly succumb to the unavoidable pull of sleep.

Tomorrow, you think. Tomorrow I'll do it.

You dream, and you have only nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake up feeling slightly better than before, though you still feel a deep pain. The sun is still rising, and your room is lit by a soft orange color. You sit up and look around. Your little friend from last night is nowhere to be seen, and you began to wonder if it had been a dream.

Your eyes settle on a plate of chocolate chip pancakes with a side of bacon sitting on the desk near your bed, and you get up from the bed and wander over to it.

It is still warm, so you know that it had been made recently. There is a mug of hot cocoa with marshmallows sitting beside the plate, and you take a sip of it. The taste faintly resembles something similar to Oreos, your favorite flavor.

Your eyes catch something under the plate of food. Lifting the plate, you pick up the piece of paper and read it. In neat but slightly rushed handwriting, you make out the following:

_It can always get better._

_-Freddy_

You stare at it for a while, wondering why your (now deceased) brother's sentient plush bear, who had threatened you with death mere days ago, would go to such lengths to make you feel better. You don't deserve this kindness, you don't deserve anything. In your mind, the only thing you deserve is pain. To be hurt.

Setting down your breakfast, you pick up the fork that had been laid carefully on a napkin nearby, and take a bite of a pancake, noticing a glow on them. They had been buttered.

You swallow what you have in your mouth and take another bite, hoping that this food had been poisoned in some way. The food is not bad, and you finish it in a short amount of time. You had apparently been hungrier than you thought, but you supposed that was what happened when you barely eat anything for days on end.

Now with a full belly but still no change in your mood, you head downstairs and put your plate in the sink, throw on a t-shirt and pants, and go outside, not bothering to shower. You don't see the point in being clean when everything about you is pure filth anyway.

You walk slow and careless, your mind clouded with thoughts, lost in a fantasy world.

A car almost smashes into you while you're crossing the street, and it honks at you, but you hardly notice or care. You even wish it had hit you.

You imagine your body, laid out on the street, blood pooling around your unmoving corpse. You imagine people crowding around it, shocked at the sight.

And you feel nothing. Just emptiness.

You continue onward, down the street, toward a place you know might bring you inner peace.

A block ahead, there is a bridge, overlooking a small stream. Jagged rocks protrude out of the rushing water, sharp and hopefully deadly.

You reach that bridge, and stare down into the stream, your mind foggy and your thoughts only on this singular goal.

You place one foot on the bottom rung of the railing, your hands gripping the metal so hard your hands are shaking, betraying something, an emotion within you, but you ignore it.

You raise the other foot and swing your leg over the railing, and then the other. Now you sit on top of that rail, looking down into the rushing water that you think might be the cause of your future demise.

You swing your legs back and forth gently, listening to the sounds of nature. The birds chirping in the trees, the cicadas buzzing around you.

You take out the note from this morning, unfolding it. You stare blankly at the handwriting, still feeling nothing.

You consider letting it go and letting the wind take it, but after some thought, you shove it back into your pocket, and continue pondering your fate.

Where had the rabbit gone? You haven't seen him since last night. You wonder if he still wants to kill you.

You could be dead right now. You could be free. But your brother's guardian still thought you could change. After what you've done? Not likely, you think. People don't come back from murder.

You feel that it's a waste of time for him to even try. You'll end up dead one way or the other in the end, so why should anyone even attempt to stop it? This is a fate that is fitting for someone like you.

You wonder if it would be slow, your death, and you attempt to visualize the feeling of the pain you think you'd experience, but you can't.

You check the time on the watch you brought, seeing it's nearly lunchtime now. You've been here longer than you thought.

Hesitantly, you climb down from the railing, and turn away from the stream, turning around to head back home.

You wouldn't mind the pain, you decide. It would be temporary, a passing feeling. Then would come nothing. Then everyone could be happy. They could be safe. From you. A monster.

You arrive back at the house and enter, feeling less conflicted than before, yet still set on doing the right thing.

'Be the change you want to see,' someone once told you. And you will be, because you despise people like what you are. What you've now become.

You go to your room, despite the protests of your aching stomach. The breakfast you had didn't fill you for long.

You pull out a knife. You drag it across your skin again, hissing in pain. You tell yourself that this is good for you, this will help.

And it does. But only for a moment.

You began to bleed, and you think that you are releasing all of this nothingness that you feel inside, this darkness that is eating at your heart.

You began preparing to take a nap, drawing the thick curtains on your windows while hoping that some sleep might clear your mind.

Sitting down on the bed, you stare into the dark, your mind clear of worry or fear. You lay down with a soft sigh, closing your eyes.

Just as you are beginning to drift off to sleep, you hear a noise. Slowly opening your eyes, you see nothing at first, until you reach over and turn on the lamp beside your bed.

The light illuminates a figure in front of you, the same one who had saved you the night before.

It's gaze wanders to the cut on your arm, still dripping blood. The bear looks into your eyes, tilting its head slightly to the side in thought.

Though it's mouth does not move (how can it, when it's stitched shut?), you hear it speak anyway.

"_Hello again." _It says, reaching up and wiping at the blood on your arm with one of its paws. "_We have much to discuss."_


	3. Chapter 3

You sit up in your bed, just staring at him.

"_Did you enjoy your breakfast?" _The bear calling itself Freddy asked,

You nod slowly, and wait. You don't know what you're waiting for, exactly, but you don't mind sitting here and doing nothing. There is no point in anything anymore. There is no reason to exist now.

You wish that your brother was here to speak with you, about anything. What you wouldn't give to have him back again.

Why weren't you better to him while he was still alive? Why didn't you spend more time with him?

You sigh and stare at the floor, and you think of Benny.

You look at Freddy, the last remaining link to your brother, the last living thing that remains here with you. It tilts its head slightly, gazing back at you silently. Perhaps waiting for you to speak.

So you do.

"Do you think people can change?" you ask in a whisper.

He asks you to repeat your question, and you do, a little louder.

"_I used to think that everyone could," _he responds, his voice sounding like a gentle whisper in your head, "_but now, I believe that only a select few humans are capable of doing so."_

"Do you blame me for his death?" You ask, averting your eyes to stare at the numerous pictures lining the walls in front of you.

"_I do not know if I am in the right to place the blame solely upon you," _the golden bear says calmly, and your fears are slightly dissipated. "_You had a hand in orchestrating the events that led to his death, that is correct, but you were not the direct cause of his passing."_

"Would you kill me if I was?"

"_I have never killed another living being, so I cannot know for certain, but to answer your question, I would imagine the possibility would be high."_

That's what you had hoped to hear. "Can I be forgiven for what I've done?"

He doesn't respond, and you know you have your answer.

Overwhelmed by your grief, you began to cry.

The sound of a ticking clock is all that you hear, signifying the passing of time. You don't pay attention to it, though, because time has no meaning to you.

The day goes by, and quickly dark descends upon you. You've wasted the day away, but you hardly care.

* * *

The next day, you are in the living room sitting with Freddy on the floor, next to the lit fireplace under the chimney, and ask him, once, why he is not affectionate towards you.

"_You are not him," _he had responded, staring at you with those haunting eyes. "_You will never be him."_

You express, very softly and quietly, the desire to cuddle. To hold something in your arms for the purpose of comfort.

"_My full affection was reserved only for the likes of your brother," _He replies to you once more, staring into the fire. You nod in understanding, and fall silent again.

After a few minutes of shared silence, he rises to his feet and leaves the room, coming back a few moments later with a stuffed animal, which he gives to you. "_However, if you truly feel the need to hold something close to you, use this." _

You give him a disappointed look, and he shrugs. "_It is the best that I can do." _

You appreciate the gesture, but you are not one to sleep with stuffed animals. You think it's strange.

Setting the item down next to you on the floor, you continue looking into the flames, your mind a blank slate.

* * *

You've been outside for almost fifteen minutes, in weather that is slightly below zero, listening to the wind as it howls in your ears. You've come out here in nothing but your pajamas again, just a thin t-shirt and pants, but it doesn't matter to you.

You've left the door open, and soon Freddy comes out.

"_What are you doing out here?" _He asks, walking up to you. "_It is cold outside, and I don't want you to freeze. Please come inside."_

You don't want to. You'd rather stay out here in the cold, where you belong. You've done a terrible thing, and you don't deserve any kind of affection or kindness.

You are a parasite that needs to be eradicated, wiped off the face of the Earth.

He takes your hand in his paw, and looks up at you. "_Come inside with me, and I can make you a cup of hot chocolate, and we can talk about better things."_

You stare at the ground, shivering in your pajamas. You should stay out here and let yourself freeze. It would be better than what you really deserve, but it's enough. Succumb to your thoughts and die out here.

And you want to. So bad.

Your fingers are numb and they hurt all at once, but you welcome the pain. Your feet are beginning to turn a faint shade of blue, but you still don't feel like moving.

Your breathing is labored, and you feel very tired.

"_Please come inside," _Freddy prompts, gently tugging on your arm. You don't look at him or make any effort to move at all. You just sit there.

"_He would not want this." _

Those words make you look over at him, and he holds a pleading expression.

You don't want to go inside. Right now, you want to close your eyes, and sleep. You don't want to be awake. Don't want to be alive.

You don't care what Benny _wanted, _because he's dead now. Dead people don't want anything.

You don't want anything, either.

You are relaxed and safe, but a part of you wishes that you weren't.

The cold suddenly grabs you and holds you tight, wrapping you up in its chilling embrace.

Something inside you whispers for you to take off your shirt, and you do. Now your chest and stomach are bare and exposed to the elements, and you allow the chilling winds to sweep over your worthless form.

This is fine. This feels right. It's what you want.

You think you hear his voice. Benny's voice. Right next to you.

But you look over, and you don't see anything.

Freddy follows your gaze. "_Please. Don't stay out here." _

The voice is gone now, you don't hear him anymore. So you get up on numb legs, and hold the wall for support. You fall a few times, but you make it to the front porch and then into the living room of the house.

Freddy immediately runs off to get you a blanket, and you work your way onto one of the couches by the still burning fireplace.

The warmth of the fire helps to heat your body, and soon you have feeling in your legs again, but your hands still burn like hot lava.

You put your shirt back on just as Freddy returns with a thick comforter, which he helps to drape over your lap.

"_Stay here, and while you get warm again I will prepare some cocoa for you." _He says worriedly, running off to the kitchen.

You wonder why he still stays here when he could go anywhere else, then you start to wonder why YOU are staying here. You don't belong here, this house is empty and dead now. Maybe you should leave.

Yes, that would probably be best, you decide.

As soon as your body is recovered from the cold, you will go to your room and pack some things to take with you.

The past decisions you've made haunt you like a ghost, and you can't get them to go away.

After a few minutes, the feeling has returned to your body almost completely now. You slowly peel back the warm comforter and lift yourself from the seat, but just as you're about to get up, Freddy returns holding a mug of steaming cocoa, and you reluctantly lower yourself back onto the couch.

"_Apologies for the wait," _he says as he hands it to you. "_I could not find it at first. I am afraid this is the last of it."_

You accept the drink, and you began to sip from it as Freddy sits down on the rug across from you.

"_So, tell me how you're doing in college," _He says conversationally. "_Are you making any new friends?"_

You haven't been to school since the incident happened, and it's not like you cared very much before, anyway. You care even less for it now.

"I haven't been going," you say, taking another sip from your mug. It's half empty now.

"_It is important that you are around other humans, Aaron," _Freddy says in a calming tone. "_Especially now. It would help to occupy your mind with other things."_

You know that. But you don't think you want to be around other people right now. You still have a lot to process.

There is nothing left to say, so you stay silent, the crackling of the fireplace being the only noise in the room.

You finish your hot chocolate and put the cup in the sink, and head up to your room to pack your belongings.


	4. Chapter 4

You immediately began packing as soon as you enter your room. You take a few sets of clothes and pajamas, deodorant and your toothbrush. Basic supplies.

Putting it all in a drawstring backpack, you close it up tight and head downstairs to leave, but Freddy is in the living room, reading from one of the books on the shelf by the wall. The fire is still lit.

He looks up as you walk by.

"Where are you going?" He sets the book aside and directs his full attention to you. "What do you have in your bag?"

"I'm just going out for a few minutes," you say softly, suddenly realizing how tired you were. "I'll be back soon."

Freddy turns to stare out the window. "It is dark outside."

"Yeah, so?" You ask, shifting your supplies on your shoulder.

He looks back at you. "It is not safe for you to go out at this time. I would wait until morning."

You don't say anything, shifting your gaze and staring out the window behind him. He doesn't really understand how this feels, to be so numb and empty.

He hops up onto the couch and gestures to the empty seat beside him. "Please, sit."

You'd rather not, but his glowing eyes are staring into your soul, so you sigh and drop your bag, sitting down next to the small bear.

"Why do you want to leave?" He asks, sounding genuinely curious. "You have food, a place to sleep, and protection from the elements. Why do you want to throw it all away?"

You shrug. Not even you really know, to be honest. You just want to get out.

You tell him. "I want it all to stop."

He tilts his head slightly, his expression unchanging, but you sense confusion in his tone. "You want what to stop? I am afraid I don't understand."

"All of this!" You say, gesturing meaninglessly around you. "All of the pain and the guilt, I don't want to feel that way anymore! It's gonna kill me!"

"Is that what you want to happen?"

You don't know how to respond to that. You don't think so, but maybe some part of you does.

"I don't know," you admit. "I'm just starting to think it would be better than what's happening now."

"As long as you still draw breath, there is an opportunity for change." He places a paw on your hand. "There is nothing that anyone can do to fix what has already happened, but there is no point in wasting time on the past. Now is the time to focus on the future."

That didn't sound very promising. There isn't much of a future left for you.

"Everyone has something that they have to make up for," he continued. "but some secrets are meant to be taken to the grave."

There is something you've done many years ago, when your brother was still little and unaware of his surroundings. You think about telling it to Freddy, but something stops you.

"Is there anything else?" He asks softly, quiet as a whisper.

You look down at the floor, ashamed of your past actions. "No."

He nods. "I will always be available if you need a listening ear or if you seek advice."

The bear leaves and walks down the hallway to another part of the house, and you try to take his suggestions to heart.

After talking with Freddy, you take a shower to rinse off all of the grime you've accumulated by not bathing for two days, and when you step out, you feel much cleaner and slightly more hopeful, but things still aren't looking their best for you.

* * *

You don't sleep well that night. You dream of him. He's lying in your bed with you, holding you close to him, his face buried into your shoulder. He smells faintly like candy and fresh air.

"You don't have to be sad," he tells you. "Things aren't as bad as you think they are."

"No. They're worse," you say. "I can't… I can't do this anymore. It hurts."

He nuzzles into your neck. "I know, I know it does," he says quietly. "But things can always be better. You just have to understand that."

You feel yourself start to cry. "How?" You ask desperately. "How can it get better? I killed you."

"No, you didn't." He objects. "It was them. They did. Not you."

"I'm the one who planned it all!" You say. "I was the ringleader! I'm to blame for everything!"

"Shhh," he soothes, "It's okay. Nothing can hurt me now. I'm safe."

You cling to his shirt. "I want to go with you. Please."

"You can't."

"Why not?" You ask sadly. "I deserve it!"

"You aren't ready." He starts to get up. "I need to go. You're going to wake up soon."

"Don't." You grab his hand as he turns to leave. "Stay. Please."

He gently pulls away. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

His form shimmers and grows faint, and you can see through him to the other side of the room. "You need to let me go. Promise you will."

That thought terrifies you. The response is a pleading whimper.

He is at the door now, and turns back to you. "If you can't let me go, you'll never feel better, and things just might stay as they are now."

You reach for him, for his warmth and soothing energy. "I can't lose you again."

He offers you a sad smile. "You've already lost me once, and I can't die twice."

"I'm sorry I hurt you." You say, and you mean it. "I'm sorry I wasn't better."

He walks up to you and wraps his arms around your waist, "I forgive you." He whispers. "Now, I need you to-"

Wake up.

You open your eyes. Those last two words sounded like they had been whispered in your ear just above you. You reach out blindly, but you don't feel anything except the blanket wrapped around your body.

Your pillow is wet with tears, and light is streaming through your windows. There is a sensation of peace enveloping you, but you feel it is undeserved. You are a bad person, and bad people deserve nothing but the worst.

The clock by your bed says its almost 9 in the morning, and you decide that now would be a good time to eat something.

Untangling the blanket from your body, you wipe the stray tears from your eyes and wander into the kitchen, the silence feeling heavy and thick around you. Normally this would be the time when Benny would be watching television in the living room, the sound of his favorite cartoons filling the house.

Your heart aches to go back to that time, if only to see him alive for one more day. Everyone always said that his smile could brighten even the worst of days on some accounts. Now you truly understand the saying 'you don't know what you had until its gone.'

You forgo breakfast and go back to your room, passing Benny's room on the way. You hesitate for a few seconds and then go in. Its still how it was on the day he'd died, mostly clean except for a few toys strewn about the area.

The bed is made, and the desk by the wall is bare except for a jar of pencils and a notebook in the corner. Skimming through it, you find that its mostly crude attempts at drawings and homework assignments from his school.

Stopping on one of the pages that caught your attention, you feel the breath being stolen from your lungs.

It was an unfinished drawing signed with his name, dated a few weeks ago. It is addressed to you, with the words 'Happy Birthday! Love, Benny' scrawled in messy handwriting on the bottom of the page.

Tears are forming on the edge of your vision. Your birthday was in a few days, less than a week, and the drawing you hold appears to have been near completion.

As you wipe your eyes again and close the notebook, there something shimmering faintly in your peripheral vision. You can't quite make it out, so you turn in that direction, and what you see sends the notebook tumbling from your hands and onto the floor.

You can faintly make out an outline of a person, standing by the wall in front of the door, and you can't believe your eyes. The form solidifies for an instant, and realization suddenly strikes you.

Benny is here with you, in this very room.


End file.
